


Revival

by Smithysaur



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smithysaur/pseuds/Smithysaur
Summary: “...I can only imagine what they might achieve, if they had only lived!”Words like these can lead to extraordinary situations, as is the case with a certain group of people responsible for preventing the fall of humanity. After waking up from what was their deaths, they five discover they were bestowed with unique abilities, abilities that no other human has ever possessed before.How will they react? What choices will they make? How will their lives be changed?Only time will tell the fates of the five chosen by the Azran.





	Revival

“ _...I can only imagine what they might achieve, if they had only lived!”  _

That’s what the girl, the golem, had said. She was surrounded by 5 bodies, bodies of people whom she had met only 5 days ago and yet she trusted more than anyone else in the world. But they were dead. They had sacrificed themselves to prevent what surely would have been the end of humanity, all without hesitation.

Aurora listened to the atmosphere around her, the faint sounds of the other golems shutting down and falling to the ground could be heard from outside the sanctuary, sign that the sacrifice was not in vain. A few moments passed, until an unknown voice could be heard from seemingly nowhere.

“These five… You believe them to be worthy of being reborn?” the voice said, a slight echo trailing behind every word.

“Yes! They were so selfless, they showed me the unique personalities that humanity has to offer, they are  _ more  _ than just sacrifices!” Aurora cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her once held-back emotions were in full view of the forces who could save her friends.

“In that case,” the voice said, “they shall return. If you truly believe that they are unique, and that they are revolutionary in terms of their own race, then they will be blessed with abilities that the Azran kept secret from time itself.”

 

                                                                                                                   ***

 

Aurora was gone. Leon Bronev was arrested. Jean Descole, otherwise known as Desmond Sycamore, had vanished. Emmy, Layton, and Luke were all standing at the water’s edge, surrounded by police. They were silent, reflecting on the events of the last few days, mourning the loss of Aurora after her duty was fulfilled. 

Luke was exhausted. It was expected of him, he was the first to sacrifice himself, and he had lost a good friend, even though he had only known her for a few days.

When he returned home, he knew he couldn’t tell his parents what had happened. He’d never be allowed to accompany Layton again! That would be awful for Layton’s apprentice number one!

                                                                                                                    ***

Luke, Brenda, and Clark had settled around the dining table, Doland had cooked a wonderful dinner. Steak and mashed potatoes, one of Luke’s favourites. They ate in comfortable silence, just happy to be together again.

“I just hope he’s feeling ok…” Brenda said. Only, she didn’t. It was her voice, but he mouth was closed the whole time. Clark hadn’t responded, so either he didn’t hear, or Luke was hallucinating what he had heard. He acted as though nothing had happened, until the same thing happened again, this time with Clark.

“The poor boy looks exhausted, better let him rest and ask him about his trip later.”

At this point, Luke wasn’t sure what was going on. He finished his plate, and waited for his parents to finish before leaving the table. It was at that point that he knew he wasn’t going mad.

“Oh, he’s finished. I should let him leave the tabe now if he wants.” Clark said, without moving his mouth. “Luke, I’m sure you’re tired, you can leave the table now if you’d like, go and get some rest!” He said, this time out loud.

“Oh, um, thanks Dad, see you in the morning!” Luke replied, leaving the table and heading to his room. A bird sat on his windowsill, and Luke simply looked at it and said:

“I think I’m a telepath now.”

 

                                                                                                                      ***

 

Meanwhile, Emmy was rushing. After saying her goodbye’s to Layton, she had only a few minutes before her bus arrived. While this normally wouldn’t be an issue, she was running with a heavy suitcase containing a few sets of clothes, and her valuable camera equipment. She was determined not to miss this bus, as it was the only one for the next hour. As she approached the stop, still running, the bus turned the corner. ‘ _ How lucky! _ ’ she thought, queueing behind the 2 other people waiting to board. As it turned out, she had exactly the right amount of money in her pocket for the fare, and the seat next to the suitcase area was free. 

As she turned to look out the window, she saw a poster for Bill Hawks, London’s Prime Minister. ‘ _ I still don’t like him, I hope one day he gets what he deserves… _ ’ she thought, turning back to look at the almost empty bus. She reached into a smaller bag, hand luggage, and pulled out a plane ticket. One way, to Africa. Morocco, to be precise. She had wanted to spend more time in San Grio, after all. After that, maybe take a trip to Phon Gi, then Torrido, then Mosinnia, and finally Hoogland. After that, well, she’d figure it out when the time came.

                                                                                                                       ***

The plane was on time, the seat was comfortable, and the journey was smooth. Emmy got her luggage, and headed out the airport to find a taxi. San Grio wasn’t far, about 30 minutes to the port and a short ferry ride over to the island town. Emmy knew the name of the dock, but was ill-prepared for any conversation, as she couldn’t speak Arabic. Getting in the taxi, she requested, “ Mina' aldaar albayda'”.

The driver turned to look at her and said, “The Port of Casablanca?”. An English accent, Emmy’s luck was incredible!

“Oh! Yes, I’ve been trying to learn the important parts of the language for my trip, but it’s rather difficult!” She said, relieved that she could have a conversation.

The driver started the car, turning back to look at the road ahead. “Yes, it’s not easy, I speak a few languages, and became a taxi driver in a tourist area just to make things easier! I’m guessing you’re heading to San Grio?” they replied, obviously knowing why Emmy would head to the port.

She nodded, relaxing in her seat as the car drives along the busy road. She explained to the driver that she had briefly visited San Grio before, with a few friends, but had decided to go by herself now in order to appreciate the locals more, as her previous visit had been ‘work related’.

                                                                                                                        ***

As the taxi reached the port, Emmy paid and thanked the driver and headed to the ticket salesman.

There was a ferry arriving in the next 5 minutes, and Emmy was well on track to get on it. No queue for the ticket, very few people waiting to board when it arrived, it all seemed too perfect. In fact, the entire trip was filled with lucky moments.

As she boarded the ferry, she looked over to the distant island town, and realised she had been having lucky moments since she woke up from the Azran Sanctuary. Perhaps it was related.

Were the others having these experiences?

 

                                                                                                                        ***

 

As Emmy left, Hershel Layton began to reflect on the events that occured over the last few days. Firstly, discovering a girl, over a million years old, trapped in ice. Secondly, discovering that she was a messenger of the Azran. Thirdly, the many clashes with Targent, who sought to control the Azran legacy. Not to mention, the reveal of Jean Descole being Desmond Sycamore, who was really Hershel Bronev. His older brother. Hershel Layton, born Theodore Bronev, was related to his biggest rival, and also Targent’s leader, before it disbanded and he was arrested.

Then Layton thought about the sacrifice. He knew he died, and death was not at all what he expected. It was a large, empty space, where the sky was reflected off the ground, like a salt flat. There were people, people he had known in the past. In the distance, he could make out Emmy and Luke, wandering the landscape; but in his immediate surroundings, there was Descole and Bronev. Further on from them, were more people. Descole was the first to rush to a woman and a young girl, most likely his wife and daughter. Bronev ran to a woman next, a woman who could only be Rachel. Layton looked on at his family, and smiled. They could be together again, despite the bittersweet circumstances.

He felt a presence appear next to him, and turned to come face to face with Claire. He doesn’t remember much of what happened, but he truly felt happy. It was a shame, that a few moments later, he witnessed Emmy, Luke, Bronev, Descole, and himself return back to the sanctuary, revived by Aurora.

He had put on a facade, as he normally would. Aurora disappeared, Descole had gone, and Bronev had been arrested. The Azran legacy had been solved, and hopefully nothing else would arise. It wasn’t until he was completely alone that he could process what had happened.

                                                                                                                         ***

A gentleman rarely cries, but in that moment where he was alone, thinking that he had seen Claire again, he thought they could be reunited once and for all, and they were separated again. He did cry, softly, quietly. Until he believed there were no more tears to cry.

He left his office, and arrived home shortly afterwards. His house seemed oddly unfamiliar, but that was mostly due to his exhaustion of the recent event. All he wanted to do was sleep, so he changed, and prepared to go to sleep, having forgotten to eat. Finally, being home, he could relax.

_ He was sat next to Luke, in the car. In the backseat, a young girl, no older than 15. She was looking out the back window, and in a soft voice, she spoke. _

_ “Goodbye, little village…” _

Layton awoke, bolting upright. Who was that girl? What village was she talking about? There were so many questions buzzing through his mind, and at the front of them all was one in particular.

_ ‘What was that?’ _

Was it just a dream? It’s likely, as it could reflect his old adventure with the Azran being over, and him starting fresh. But it seemed so real, too real to simply be a dream.

With those thoughts in his head, he settled back to try and sleep again, hoping he could stay asleep this time.

                                                                                                                         ***

The day was Saturday. Layton had no obligation to go to his office, so he spent the day at home, still thinking about the vision from last night. It was warm, warm enough to make him feel relaxed as he read the paper, a cup of tea on the table next to him. He had gotten so used to having Luke around, that the quietness of his surroundings was unusual now. Not unwelcome, however. As he read the paper, he had a strange feeling, as though someone was trying to get his attention.

_ A young man, roughly 23, turned the corner of the casino to come face to face with Layton and Luke. He appeared to be welcoming, and he was eerily similar to Luke in terms of appearance. _

Layton jolted in his seat, aware now that this was not a simple dream. There was no logical explanation for this, but it was certainly happening. It was somewhat unsettling, and yet it made Layton feel as though he could easily prepare for something.

But what was it he was preparing for?

 

                                                                                                                          *** 

 

He’d been there for three days. As he looked up at the sky, which was sporting a dull grey hue, he thought of Rachel, and the great amount of time he had wasted over the years since her death.

Leon Bronev had been a proud man since he rose to the top of Targent’s positions. He was a smart man, believing that by going along with what Targent wanted from him, he would have been able to free himself and his wife, but that did not occur. Rachel’s death, alongside the loneliness of missing two sons, had broken him. All he had left to work for was the Azran legacy. All of that came to an end three days ago.

Spots of rain were beginning to appear on the window of his cell, and Leon could only imagine them being Rachel’s tears.

He laughed, a defeated, weak laugh, as he thought to himself, ‘ _ How pathetic, after what I caused she could never cry for me…’ _

                                                                                                                           ***

A few more days passed, and a new prisoner had arrived. Only slightly younger than Bronev, but less resigned to his fate. In fact, he was putting up a fight with the guards, claiming that while he wasn’t fully innocent, his sentence was longer than what he deserved. Something clicked.

“You’re lying.” Announced Bronev. The people in the room turned to look at him, and the man accused of lying made an attempt to look intimidating.

“Excuse me?” he replied, taking slow steps towards Bronev.

“You heard me. In fact, you know that your sentence is actually  _ shorter _ than what it should be, but you just weren’t caught for everything you’ve done, isn’t that right?”

The younger man looked defensive, yet beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead. Bronev himself wasn’t exactly sure  _ how  _ he knew the man was lying, or how he knew the details of the lie, but it didn’t matter. Of course, he didn’t know everything about this man, he wasn’t psychic, however certain elements were clear. The man was lying. And he was hiding something.

                                                                                                                           ***

Bronev was right. Of course he was right, why wouldn’t he be, but he was right without knowing anything about the prisoner. It was no secret that people thought he was strange because of it, Bronev himself thought it was odd. He was desperately trying to wrap his head around the whole situation, and he’d decided to keep quiet about anything else he’d picked up on. Until one morning.

Inspector Russel Chelmey was sat opposite him in the interrogation room. No cameras, no one else in the room with them. Bronev was the first to speak up.

“Is there anyone behind that?” he asked, nodding his head in the direction of the one-way glass.

“No. Just the two of us.” Chelmey replied.

‘ _ A lie. Nothing that can be done about it though. _ ’ Bronev thought. His skill worked on police inspectors too, it seemed. “...Alright. What do you want?” he questioned, focusing his attention to the man who seemed emotionless opposite him.

“How did you know about the prisoner with the short sentence?” Chelmey asked. Straight to the point, easy to handle.

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth. But It’s not just him. For example, I know you lied when I asked if there other people watching. I know that other prisoners are lying to each other about the severity of their own crimes. You could tell me what you had for breakfast and I would be able to tell if you were lying.” Bronev replied, remaining calm as Chelmey’s face became one of subtle annoyance.

The two kept the conversation going, and as Bronev explained the ‘gut feelings’ he was having whenever someone told a lie, the people behind the glass were taking notes. He always knew when someone lied, however it was only a recent ability. On some occasions, he could figure out small details, as shown by the first case of the prisoner.

A few moments after the inspector had heard what he needed to hear, he stood and left, declaring that he had to talk to some people about the next steps. Bronev sat in silence for a few minutes, processing what was said. There was no doubt about it, Chelmey believed him. Furthermore, Scotland Yard now wanted him for something.

As Chelmey re-entered the room, he was followed by the Chief of Scotland Yard and also Inspector Clamp Grosky. The three of them stood opposite Bronev, the chief holding the key to his handcuffs. After a brief silence, the chief spoke up.

“We’d like to propose a deal to you, Leon Bronev.”

“Please, I’m all ears.” Bronev replied, the use of his full name clearly being used to intimidate him.

“Scotland Yard, and the British public, could greatly benefit from having someone with your abilities in the force. In exchange for you joining us, you’ll be out of prison, remaining under house arrest for three years, being allowed to be escorted by police to and from Scotland Yard when needed. Do you accept?”

Bronev thought for a while. He assumed he would be given a house to live in, close to the Yard. Being under house arrest meant he could still have visitors, without the guilt of seeing them in an environment like prison. He looked at the three men opposite him, and with a smirk, he simply nodded.

“It would be my pleasure.”

 

                                                                                                                        ***

 

Desmond Sycamore, otherwise known as Jean Descole, was keen to find a new purpose. After dedicating his life to stopping Targent and unlocking the secrets of the Azran, there had to be more for him to accomplish. He was a skilled man, after all. Mechanics, chemistry, physics, not to mention archaeology, all topics he knew a great deal about. He was also a convincing man, full of surprises, able to transform himself into anyone through the power of research and disguises.

But things were different now. After waking up from what he knew was death, he felt slightly odd, like his body had changed in some way. At the time, he was more focused on the injury on his side from the statue earlier, and also the collapsing sanctuary.

As he separated from the others, his mind began to process the weight of his body. His movements were the same as usual, yet his body felt somewhat heavier, like it was made of something different.

He stood on the deck of the Bostonius, which Raymond was piloting. He touched his fingertips together, one at a time, noticing the sensation of each touch being slightly sticky. There was no logical explanation for this, much like there was no logical explanation of how all five sacrifices were then revived. Lazarus syndrome could explain the revival, but all five? Unlikely.

                                                                                                                           ***

The next morning came, and the Bostonius was still in the air. Raymond must’ve put it on autopilot at some point, as he seemed well-rested. The stickiness that Desmond felt previously was still there, however it wasn’t an issue since he wasn’t actually sticking to anything. It was more like a prolonged touch of sorts. He had changed into more comfortable clothing, as it was most likely going to be a day of being in the air. Various mountains could be seen below the airship, the snowy peaks offering a sense of calm to Desmond. 

As he wandered the ship, he began to think of the events and discoveries that led to the Azran legacy being uncovered after a millennia of being hidden. It wasn’t long before he was thinking of his family. His wife and daughter, his parents, his brother. Theodore Bronev, now Hershel Layton, unknowingly walked into a series of events focused around his family. If it wasn’t for him, the Garden of Healing, the Nautilus Chamber of Akbadain, and the Island of Ambrosia would never have revealed their true secrets. While Desmond envied this role Layton had played, he was grateful to see his little brother again, after years of nothing.

As Desmond thought of Layton, Raymond had turned around briefly to ask a question, which was quickly replaced by a new one.

“Master,” he said, “I could tell something had been bothering you, but you don’t need to become your brother. Are you feeling ok?”

Desmond looked up, and looked at his reflection in the window of the Bostonius. He had taken the form of Layton, even down to the small details. As he realised it, his thoughts changed from his brother to himself, wondering when - and how - on earth he had done this.

“Raymond, I-I don’t remember changing…” He began, as to his surprise, his form began to change back to his prefered form, Desmond Sycamore.

He moved his hands to his face, the stickiness persisting even there, as he realised it was no longer skin-on-skin contact, but a smooth, slimy substance. The feeling was quick to change back to what skin felt like, but the knowledge was there. Even Raymond had been a witness to the change in appearance. Desmond Sycamore was a shapeshifter.

                                                                                                                            ***

This new fact was somewhat difficult to comprehend at first, but after realising that the transformation process was somewhat logical - after a few tests to see how it functioned - Desmond realised that his body now consisted of a substance that could change texture, colour, and density at will. It closely resembled slime, it’s natural colour being a pale yellow, however it took no effort to choose a form and stay like it. He had figured out how to make the texture change whenever necessary, and he and Raymond decided it was best to hurry home to examine the new discovery in a more controlled and stable environment. Desmond wanted to see how far he could push this new ability, and Raymond just didn’t want to risk a crash landing.

The two looked at each other, and then out of the window of the deck of the Bostonius.

“Come, Raymond. A new adventure awaits!”         

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Thanks for reading my first mini-fic! Hopefully I'll be able to post more fics in the future, but this has really helped my confidence! Hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr! My Layton blog is @alfxndi-laytxn and my main is @smithysaur!


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